Untitled
by MorbidMandy
Summary: How fickle the media can be. One minute, he's a pariah, the next... well, the next, they love him. Sherlock reflects on his relationship with the media, and with John. Johnlock pre-slash; Post-Reichenbach fic. Will be continued if there's any (literally ANY) interest.


__**Lyrics belong to My Chemical Romance (they're good lyrics!). Currently searching for a title - any suggestions welcome. Please review. Will be continued if there's any interest!  
**

_When we go don't blame us_

_We let the fire just bathe us_

_You made us oh so famous_

_We'll never let you go_

The newspapers would glorify them both. Poor, sad, Richard Brooks. Accused of being some fanatical criminal mastermind, the notorious "Moriarty". And Sherlock Holmes. Troubled, mad, sociopathic. But still, in the eyes of the public, a pitiable figure. Since he'd died, at least.

Funny that, how easily the papers would turn. Yet again, the fickleness of the media did nothing but increase Sherlock's loathing towards the world as a whole. Sitting there, in the spare bedroom of Molly Hooper's flat, Sherlock felt as though the sheer _force_ of his loathing could serve to destroy the entirety of Britain's news reporting services.

His eyes flickered towards the TV. Molly had recommended he avoid it, to ensure he didn't see any of the reports surrounding his death. However, Sherlock was bored. And somehow, he didn't think Molly would be quite as forgiving as John was. Not when bullets were involved. So, Sherlock reasoned, it was reasonable - he would watch TV, if only to restrain himself from shooting holes throughout Molly's flat.

He switched it on, frowning as he clicked past several infomercials. Surely there was something other than the normal drivel that the masses insisted on pouring into their minds, as if anyone could ever _truly_ desire to have something that hideous on their - oh.

The familiar face of Sherlock Holmes filled the screen. It hung their, seemingly suspended on a blue background. Silence permeated the air as Sherlock found himself in the uncomfortable, if familiar, position of watching his face on the telly. Only this time, instead of the little space at the bottom being filled with some "clever" case title, it simply read: "Sherlock Holmes: Found Dead."

Onscreen, a voiceover suddenly kickstarted, "Sherlock Holmes, famed detective whose credibility was recently challenged, died last week. Officers on the scene reported another body in the vicinity. Although initial reports didn't name the second victim, he has now been confirmed as Richard Brooks. Brooks and Holmes had been recently involved in a heated battle over the identity of one James Moriarty. Neither death is being reported as suspicious, however there is some question as to how the bodies of two apparently heated enemies, were found so close to each other. Both deaths are expected to be ruled as suicides. A special, airing at seven on Tuesday, "The Sociopath and the Actor" will delve deeper into the relationship between the two."

Sherlock ignored the rest of the reporters drivel, even as the screen flashed to a grisly murder scene. A television special. On his _relationship_. With _Moriarty_. No, sorry, his relationship with _Richard Brooks_. Of course. Despite his essential media blackout since his "suicide", even he was aware of the sensationalism that had sprung up around his death. Suddenly, he was simultaneously the pariah and the darling of every news station in Britain. Every reporter had an "inside scoop". The only time Sherlock had ever considered leaving Molly's flat, abandoning his exile, was when he happened upon a spot in which a group of reporters had camped outside of their flat. Er, John's flat. 221B. They'd caught Mrs. Hudson as she was returning from shopping, and _mobbed_ the poor woman. John had emerged to help her, only to find himself with a face full of microphones and cameras.

"Do you still protest Sherlock Holmes' innocence?"

"Do you think Sherlock Holmes' killed himself because he couldn't stand the guilt of accusing an innocent man?"

"Were you and Sherlock Holmes in a romantic relationship?"

That last question was the one that really got to Sherlock. Were you and Sherlock Holmes in a romantic relationship? That's the one question he really wished John would've answered. Were they? Sherlock couldn't answer that one. He knew that he'd watched John. He knew that there'd been moments, infinities in seconds, where neither of them moved, they just... watched. Considered. The slope of John's lips. The arch of his neck. Sherlock knew that, if John had asked, Sherlock would've. He would've done anything, given so much up... Or maybe he wouldn't have. John had never asked. And Sherlock didn't know if he would have been willing... to give up what they'd had. Because people never stayed long, with Sherlock. But John had. And would it have been worth it? Abandoning their camaraderie, their companionship, for a chance at a relationship?

Sherlock knew the answer to that.

It was too late now.


End file.
